


Silver Lining

by liveanotherslife



Category: The Last of Us
Genre: A little, Action, Apocalypse, Character Death, Death, Depression, F/M, Sadness, Survival, Trauma, Violence, WIP, Work In Progress, first year, happiness, not a lot of that though, small happy times
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 14:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1651316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liveanotherslife/pseuds/liveanotherslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joel thought he had life mostly figured out, with hopes and plans for the future. But the end of October, 2013 detroyed all of that, including himself. After the first four months of the outbreak, Joel tries to survive with brother Tommy, the absence of his daughter always aching. Hungry, tired and lost, they take their chances with a lone stranger. // First year into the apocalypse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> This is kind of a prologue, set before the story really starts, taking place in a moment that weren't as awful and tough as the many, many years to follow.
> 
> This is my very first fanfic, ever, and I am very nervous to post this. Because I've always told myself never to try it out, because I hate it when people fuck up characterization, and I would hate to do that myself. xD
> 
> But fuck it. I couldn't get this idea out of my head, and I better just actually write something for once, instead of just walk around with it in my head until it dies out. But this just wouldn't…
> 
> I completely own the OC in the follow-up chapter. She's from my own novel-in progress, and the whole idea with this story grew from me throwing her into the TLOU-universe for fun. So if I see any of you stealing her, I will find you and show you just how dangerous a writer can be, with all that bloody research. I'll go Ellie-on-David crazy on ya.
> 
> Anyway! Read, have fun, and enjoy this very short, happy moment. There's not a lot of those in the future. :3
> 
> (It should also be said that I'm Danish, so English is not my first language. Incorrect grammar, and probably not the highest quality of English literature ahead).

_March, 2001_

When Joel, a couple of days after the birth of his daughter, sat down in a hard, hospital chair looking at his baby girl inside the incubator, he realized that for the rest of his life, it would be his responsibility that this little thing would have it good in this world; that Sarah would be safe and secure and loved, until she herself would sit in a chair like this.

He had his gloved hands through the holes in the machine, and gently nuzzled his baby girls little feet, her small toes looking like mini sausages. The girl's mother, and now Joel's former girlfriend (not legally ex-wife yet), left as soon as she could stand after the delivery. So Joel was soul alone with Sarah in the dimmed hospital room with pale, white walls and a grey linoleum floor. Ashley and he had talked shortly about what would happen after the whole pregnancy, those long, agonizing months, were finally over. As soon as Ashley got knocked up by him as the result of way too much beer at a way too wild party, Joel bought a ring, Ashely said yes and they got married in the most unromantic way possible: in the matter of convenience, with a clearly visible baby bum in a tight wedding dress, and with a priest that didn't try to hide his disbelief when they gave their vows. That they were just hitting 16 didn't help the image at all.

But the priest was right in his assumptions, of course. Though Joel would try to keep things stitched together after Sarah was out of that damn box, he wasn't stupid. He didn't believe in happy marriages, and he didn't believe in a happy future between Ashley and him. Letters exchanging child support with their names on 'em, that would most likely be it. The only love Joel believed in right now, was the support from Tommy, whose flowers stood in a little vase beside the hospital bed, and the one he had for his baby girl, which little body wiggled under his big, rough hands, even for a 16 year old. His whole being melted by just looking at her small, puffy eyes opening and closing, her little hand closing firmly around his little finger in a tight death grip.

And right there, Joel had it all figured out.

He was gonna find a place to live for them, finish high school and get a job. Pay the bills, buy food and furniture and toys, and he was gonna do the damn best he could for giving Sarah a good life. Even if he was alone, even if everyone left him (as they were already starting to do), he would give all he had.

Joel was never the type to sit down and question the meaning of life or his existence, why the world was round and if there existed a God or not. For many years he'd just accepted that life is hard, and threw all sorts of shit under your shoe when you thought you were walking on a clean road. But right now, in the most silent room, with only the machine summing and their breathing filling the empty air, Joel thought most about his life than he'd ever did in all such classes in school, or when his folks sat down with him, to discuss the matter of college (which were not gonna happen now, he could tell 'em). And it wasn't the darkest life he saw ahead. Hard, yes, tough, yes, and low on money for probably the rest of his life, with debt and the mortgage kicking him from behind. But it wouldn't matter, Joel decided, sighing tiredly under the dim light, as long as it was worth it for Sarah.

Joel stretched his shoulders, felt his eyes heavy and itchy from the lack of sleep. He quietly said "goodnight, baby girl," to the little, sleeping form of his daughter, before he went to make his way back home, before returning in the early morning.

Maybe it would be alright in the end, after all. Nothing told him that it wouldn't.


	2. Chapter 1

_February, 2014_

Almost thirteen years later, Joel was alone; from human company, at least. Under the dead leaves, already decaying in the muddy ground, worms and beetles were having the time of their lives, as the winter got more wet than cold. He didn't feel guilty when he stepped on a bunch of snails while walking through the woods; if you felt sad about ending the life of a brainless creature, you wouldn't get very far into the world as it was now. Joel had seen people like that. He was not one of them.

The trees where tall and thin in this forest, with much distance between them, and therefore, you couldn't really blend through any landscape; only if you looked like a deer, which in that case would be really inconvenient in these hungry times. Joel's own stomach ached behind his thick winter jacket, which was covered in small spots of blood, and he tightened his grip around his gun, as to enforce the decision on finding something edible before dark. But the trees all looked the same, the hills and roots not sayin' if you've walked one mile or two miles to the left or right – or if you've just walked in circles for the last two hours. He gritted his teeth.

In the last few miles, there hadn't been any infected. Not even  _one_. The silence almost caught him off guard – only the sound of dead leaves waving in the wind, so peaceful and  _normal_. Like he was just takin' a walk with Sarah, like if the reason for his deep hunger was just because he missed breakfast. No crying. No sound of military rifles wipin' out the heards of people, no alarms going off with red light running over every wall and floor. He took a deep breath, closed his tired eyes and swallowed it all like a hard lump. When he opened him again,  
two blackbirds flew over him, circling around each other and rested at a big branch. Joel considered shootin' one of them, partly because of the food, partly because he couldn't stand looking at how at peace they looked; even though it was just two, stupid birds that didn't matter. But those peaceful, warm memories they triggered; they mattered.

Before he even took his decision, it was too late, because the next step Joel took broke a dry stick just under the branch, and the birds flew frightened away.  
"Goddammit," he muttered.

It was hard to move silently through the forest, with leaves and soil and mud and sticks, all reactin' to every damn move he made - plus the bitin' wind, that made it hard to see, and provoked tears in his eyes.

It was all damn awful.

Four months had gone and passed, slowly. Very slowly, like time itself had just taken a razor at his throat, trying to cut it every time he tried to escape. Tommy always looked at him with sad eyes, when Joel would just stand there, silently, looking out into nothin'. Every time he noticed his brother's look, Joel would order him to get a move on, and push his thoughts back into its cage. They were good at escaping it, though. They crept up on him when he weren't looking and attacked like one of those damn runners, though the memories where definitely more sneaky.

Like now.

He guessed four months wasn't much to get over the grief of Sarah, and he quickly realized that it wasn't something he could do. Ever. It wasn't something he would ever want to do. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how  _dead_  he felt, only feeling alive when the hunger kicked in, or he was hurtin' every time his thoughts grazed her… It was all better than getting over her death. Just the  _word_ made his throat crumple, eyes tingling for new tears to come, as he saw her running around in this dead forest in hiking boots and short hair in a little, swingin' ponytail, like if they were just on a walk.

Even with all the time in the world, his daughter would always sit deep down inside him. If Tommy made a funny comment on something on their path, Joel would turn around with a smile ready on his face, to see how Sarah reacted, waitin' for her small laugh. But when nothin' met him, only the look from Tommy, he would remember. And everything funny would be lost from the situation.  
He would turn to silence, getting' colder inside than the winter already did to him, and just walk. He was good at walking.

Like now.

Behind him, the sound of rough boots against the hard soil shook him quickly out of his thoughts, and Joel grabbed his 9mm, clicking a bullet in place, pointed the gun directly behind him at whatever unfortunate soul that dared to not be Tommy.

As lucky as the bastard was, the long nose and greasy hair greeted him, and Joel lowered his gun for his brother.

"Seen anythin' yet?", Tommy asked him, hunting rifle in his hands; nothing else, Joel noted. Not even a little rabbit hang from his winter jacket, and Joel seriously doubted that he hid any edible stuff in them tight cowboy pants Tommy hadn't got rid of yet. Sentimental reasons, he supposed, but nothing he understood. Joel wasn't for any mementos to look at. He had all he ever needed right in his head, where he could keep them locked and secure. Nothing else. Well, all except the watch on his left wrist, but little was it because of the memories. He just couldn't get himself to throw it away; the very last thing he had of Sarah was not something to lose, though it was something he constantly felt rubbing against his skin.

"Nothing. Not even infected," he mumbled, slightly shaking his head out to the skinny, bare trees. Even though there weren't many people near Kansas' mountains in the first place, it was very suspicious to not even meet one group of survivors, like themselves. And he didn't like it, at all.

"Hm. Must be hiding somewhere," was Tommy's comment. Joel gruffed as an answer without looking at him, and Tommy made a little grimace. "Well, I'm starving. Got anythin' left?"

"Only if you mean bullets. And not much of those left, even. Used most of them back at the last QZ. And all for nothing, too," he added silently.  
That time had been their latest chance at coming into something that held barriers against the infection, but as the word spread, that St. Louis' own quarantine zone was still taking in people, it caused everyone from every damn southern state that was still out in the cold to hoard up at the checkpoint, demanding to get in. Joel remembered sitting in the car, surrounded by thousands of people who were tired, hungry and scared. And then the moment when he looked up at the walls, and saw the soldiers shaking their heads; and when he realized that they were closing the checkpoint, not being the only one. Loud yells and cries then started to rise over the honking horns, and soon bullets where slicing through the air and everything it hit. They had been so damn lucky they didn't lose their lives that night, by seeking under the seats as the bullet rain continued. But he had scars, for sure, and the bloodbath that waited just on the other side of the car had just been the beginning of coming out of the hell of a mess that city had become.

Tommy remembered it too, and pursed his lips.

They fell into the silence that was far more common that conversation. Joel bet Tommy wouldn't mind more words on the long, hungry stretches between sleep, but he wasn't really up for any conversations, and Tommy wasn't really up for bringing up topics to talk about, that would just die anyway in the empty, cold air between them.

"Let's just get to it," Joel said. "There got to be at least some livin' things that aren't dead or infected trying to eat us out here. Just keep walking."

Tommy nodded shortly, and kept to Joel's side right behind him, as they continued through the woods. February really wasn't friendly this year, like everything else, and the air was cold and sharp into his nose and down his dry throat. Damn, he was thirsty. Their water bottles only had a couple of sips left from their last stop with running, clean water, from the bathroom of a motel filled with tons of people trying to find place to be, many, many miles back. They'd left quickly, just heading for a quarantine zone that were far away from the bloodbath of St. Louis. But his gut told Joel that there weren't many places above that. Though, maybe it  _would_  be better to be in a place with water and food, and something other than a cold ground to sleep on, just with guns poking against your back. Because  _this_ , with empty stomachs and dry throats, running out of supplies very fast, was a slow death.

Not that Joel wouldn't mind just giving up, sometimes. His responsibility for Tommy and the ever-going-strong survival instinct kept him walking and dodging bullets, but not much else. What was the point, when the soul thing for him to live, the whole reason he had taken a job, givin' up on his education, and coming home late every night to afford their life, had passed away?

The sound of branches over him scratching their withered feathers together pushed him out of his thought, and he tightened his grip on his pistol - but it was just birds as from before; but a whole dozen of them now, actually, hopping from branch to branch, looking down at them with curious eyes. Joel just gruffed at Tommy's snide comment about "being jumpy".

They continued through the woods, hopping over the soaking mud and puddles of water as good as they could, to try not get pneumonia or anythin' like that. It wouldn't really help their situation. The hours dragged out, and the longer they stayed in the same, bare bunch of trees surrounded by brown, brown, brown, he got blind for anything else. His eyes weren't as sharp looking out for anything that stuck out, everything slowly blended together in one big puddle of mud.

"Tommy, have you-" Joel started, before tumbling over something soft but hard, falling over the big mass lying under him. He grabbed after a nearby tree, but the rough bark just scratched his hand, before he fell down into something –  _organic_.  
Joel's took short breaths as it took one second for him to realize the danger.  _And infected, the blood mixing with his open wounds, the rest of the runners triggered by the sound of the fall, Tommy..  
_ But lying under him wasn't the dead body of an infected. It was – big and soft - a deer. With two long arrows pierced through its body, one in the stomach, one in the neck. New fresh blood ran out of the wounds, the skin still warm from just minutes before being alive.

"Oh shit," he cursed. "TOMMY!"

"Wha-" he heard his brother answer behind him, but was cut short by something he couldn't see. Still hurdled up in the body of the deer and branches of a thorn bush, he panicky rushed out of the mess. God bless he still had his gun safe in his hands when he came up on his feet, ready to fire – but no-one was behind him.

"TOMMY," he growled, his yell echoing out in the empty air. He drew quick breaths, small clouds forming out of his lips for every second. He looked down in the mud, saw it filled with footsteps drawin' a circle to the right – he followed them, eyes and ears as sharp as they could be, while blood pumping fast and hard from fear. Suddenly – behind him, he heard struggle, and he pictured Tommy being manhandled by some fucker, getting chocked  _while Joel couldn't find him_.

"Joel," he heard, Tommy, and he turned straight to the sound, his gun very ready in his hands. "Behi-" Tommy yelled, but a quick and sharp blow to the back of his head turned everything black in an instant.

He was lying on the ground, thick roots pressing up against his back, and while slowly trying to move, he felt the wet mud cling to his jacket.  
It couldn't be long he'd been out, it had to be; his head ached from the hit from a gun, at least, that's what it'd felt like. But he stopped his whimpering as soon as he heard footstep in the withered leaves just feet away from his ears, and his eyes flew up. The sun was still as bright as it could be at this time of the year, so it was still day – but turning his head side to side didn't help him in finding Tommy, or whoever fucker those footsteps belonged to.

He scrambled up on his feet, and turned around, almost falling again in the process in his dizzy state. He saw the dead deer lying a little higher up on the hill, so he must have rolled down and landed in the puddle of mud.  _But where was Tommy?_

Joel quickly searched for his gun, but found only soil in the empty jeans.  _Shit_. The attacker had taken his only weapon, and only now he thought of the light feeling on his back – no backpack, no water, no ammo, no nothin'. Even if he had just been out for  _minutes,_ minutes was a long time in a battle.

He decided to run up to the deer, to find his starting point. He took long steps up the hill, almost crawling on all four when the mud was to slippery, and holding on to the hard roots until he reached the dead animal, still warm under the smooth skin. The arrows was still there.

Joel reached over it, trying to look for any sign of disturbance, because why not? The only footsteps he could see was the ones he followed just before he took the blow, and that didn't give him any good before. But just as he touched the deadly arrow, cold metal met his bare neck. A muzzle.

"Don't you even fucking think about it," a gruff voice said, muffled by something, a piece of fabric. Joel's head still ached from the blow, and since he knew how a hit by the gun went last time, he just looked down at the dead deer, and slowly raised his arms.

"Good job, boy. Now, wanna tell me why the fuck you're still staring at my meat?"

"You don't really give me any choice ma'am," Joel answered back, recognizing the voice as being female. "Since you're holding me a' gunpoint."

"Well, you sure as hell didn't have a problem in it before. Now, get up, like that, and tell me that you're just some lost pair of dudes who's wandering around in the same circle as I."

Slowly, Joel got up from his knees, the stranger always keeping up with every move he made, the muzzle grazing his jacket. He turned around, every movement very sharp. He just waited until he could see enough of the stranger, so he could grab the gun and yank it away from her grip, so it was him who had the upper hand – not like this, him being the one with a gun poked into his back like a stupid pig. But all plans on punching the hell out of the stranger fell out of his head when he fully turned around.

Tommy was lying just a few feet away, bound tight with white fabric over his mouth, saliva soaking through. Tommy's hands were bound to the tree with a knot on the other side, too far for him to reach. He looked hard at Joel, as if saying to just do what the attacker said. Joel reckon he knew the outcome of resisting.

He still had his hands in the air, and first now took a look at the stranger. A white scarf covered most of her face, looking like the fabric she used to tie Tommy up, with small, sharp eyes eying him suspiciously. Her figure was tall, didn't quite reach his own 6' foot frame, but definitely impressive for a woman. Old jeans, winter jacket – and his backpack slung over her shoulder. That enough to make him ignore all mental advice from Tommy, and he wanted to just punch her out and steel her deer for the hell of it. He wouldn't let  _one single stranger_ with some fabric strippin' them bare in the bitin' cold wind of February, in the woods of  _Kansas_.

His eyes met hers. Brown on brown stared each other down as lions.

"Where," she said. "Where you from?"

Joel took a second to consider not negotiating, but then answered "Texas."

"Well no shit," she replied with a strange look of humor in her eyes. "Austin, I suppose?"

Joel just stared at her with a weird look. " _Why?_ " The word has hard and short, like a punch.

"Nice to know if my accent-detector skills haven't disappeared as the modesty of this country," she said. "Not that there was much left anyway. But what's you're deal? It's cold, and it's gonna rain soon, and I don't want to stand here with your buddy over there biting through my sheets any longer than most necessary. Could save you some time."

Joel honestly didn't know what to do with her open way of speaking. Most people they'd encountered where either very, very aggressive, or full of shaking fear as they'd held them at gunpoint before Tommy and him somehow got the upper hand. Nothing in her face or body showed any signs of nervousness, not even anger. On the contrary, she held her whole being with stole hard confidence and a glare just as firm. And the revolver in her hands pointing at his chest didn't joke. All he could do was to wait for her to make a mistake, so that he could free Tommy and get the hell out of here.

"We're just crossing the land. I stumbled upon the deer, quite literally, and  _you_  decided to  _attack us_." He didn't hide his anger from his voice.

"Of course I did," the stranger answered in a mocking tone, eyes pressed together in a sharp glare. "That deer is one of the last around this area. Most of them are already dead and eaten, so for me to find you two nearing my meat isn't exactly something I like to see."

"As I said," Joel said irritated. " _We're just crossing the land_."

"Sure you are," the stranger answered. Joel wasn't sure if she believed him or thought it was all bullshit. She seemed to consider something, being silent for the first time in a while. Her sharp eyes ran over him, and her head slightly headed to the right where Tommy was bound, before looking back at Joel with a hard look.

"If I let you release your friend, will you not shoot me afterwords?

That wasn't what Joel expected. "What?"

"You have perfectly good ears, boy. If I give you your backpack, will you kill me and laugh at my mercy?"

Joel stood, considering her truthfulness and looked over at Tommy, who didn't shake his head.

"Fine," he decided to say. And by that word, it was the first time since October he had ever trusted a stranger to spare his life.

The woman slowly lowered her gun, but her grip was still tight around it, as her eyes were sharp as a hook, following every running step Joel took over to Tommy.

He fell unto his knees on the ground, and quickly fumbled with the knots, sadly not a knife at his reach. Tommy grunted impatient as Joel dealt with the tough knots with his big sausage fingers, not exactly made for delicate handling of fabric.

But finally, Tommy's wrists were loose and red from the improvised rope, and he released the bond over his mouth. Tommy let out a gasp of relief then, and panted like he hadn't drawn breath in an hour.

"You okay?" Joel silently asked, looking down at the ground as he said it. Tommy breathy replied "yeah", kind of shocked by Joel's comment of care, and frankly, he was himself too.

They got up on their feet just as the stranger threw Joel's backpack in front of them, the zipper still closed.

"The only thing I took. If you're missing any weapons or your friend's backpack, it's not me," the woman said, and Joel nodded in her direction. He didn't know if he believed her about his missing gun, but she wasn't pointing any revolver at him now – and Tommy's backpack had been left behind in a hurry week ago, when a bunch of runners surprised them half sleeping at night. That's where most of their supplies ran out. And with that thought, Joel was again reminded how hungry they were. Sure enough, they had the half bottle of water they'd gotten back with the rest of their stuff, which only included two cans of preserved beans, which would keep them afloat for tonight, but after some sleep – what next? That's where Joel seriously considered going against his word and just tackle the woman to the ground, shoot her and take the deer; he had done worst.

Goddammit. The woman eyed them both very carefully, and Joel didn't miss the still deadly gun at her thigh. He looked over at Tommy, silently ordering him to get a move on before turning his back on both on them. But just as he took his second step away, he heard Tommy say: "Look, we're pretty low on everything."

Joel turned around on his heel and looked at his brother in disbelief. " _Tommy_."

But he continued. "We could trade for some of them meat. We have ammo, water!"

_Yeah, right, lots of that_ , Joel thought. "Tommy, shut. Up."

"Nonono, hold your horses, dude," the woman told him, the same humoristic glimmer in her eyes, gesturing at Joel with her gun. "I take it you're alone."

"We are," Tommy answered, before Joel could stop him. "We're looking for a quarantine zone that can take us in, and we've been wanderin' from Missouri pretty much on foot, were we lost most of what we've got." Tommy stood with open palms at his sides. Joel couldn't believe how stupid a little brother he had.

There was a small silence between them. There was only the sound of the forests wildlife crawling into safety from the now fierce wind, and it occurred Joel that that also involved them. They maybe weren't born an' raised in the woods of Kansas, but animals trying to survive the night – and trusting their lives in the hands of a loaded stranger was apparently Tommy's attempt to do that.

"Okay," the woman said, and they waited for the follow up, as she looked down her feet. "Are you friendlies?" Her eyes shot up at the last word, eyebrows raised.

"Friendlies?" Tommy and he said simultaneously.

That got a short, dry chuckle out of her. "It means, if I show you my cabin, will you murder me in my sleep and take all my stuff and piss on my dead body? Or could we be…" she searched for words, eyes searching the trees as if they were hangin' on the branches. "… allies? Form a group."

Joel couldn't believe what he heard, and not that Tommy seemed as open and trusty as her.

"Wait, wait," he said, voice dripping on disbelief. "Are you seriously considering leading two armed men to your safe place, hoping nothin' bad will come out of it?" He uttered a dry chuckle.

"As your friend said, assuming he's not full of shit, you're as low as I am, minus the treasure behind me that lead to all of this. That, and I'm desperate and stupid," she said, lifting her arms to the sides. "Those two things often goes hand in hand. Something you would know about," she added, looking at them with the hard, serious look from before.  _No bullshit_.

Joel was silent, and as they had silently agreed on Joel being the leader of those two, Tommy waited for his final word. The woman seemed to pick up on that, by the look of her eyes looking between them, and Joel pressed his lips together. The wind was strong, takin' it's told on just minutes, but as in a battle, a minute was a long time for things to change. Goddammit.

"Take us to you," Joel said, slowly, every word uttered as if he would change his mind right after. "But I swear," he added, voice going beyond bass, growling at  _swear_. He took a long step over to the woman, locked her gaze with his, and as before, none of them looked away. "If you as much as  _think_  of betraying our trust, I'll put one of your dear arrows right between your own eyes, you understand?"

The woman's eyes hold his gaze, not wavering for a second, playing the game of two hungry wolf between them. Though he was still appropriately away from her, it felt like their faces was just inches between from touching.

_This was what trust feels like_ , he thought. Because Joel didn't back away.

"'Mind helping me with the deer?" the woman said. "I have an axe not too far from here that I left while you were sniffing at it." Joel still had her gaze locked into his, but Tommy broke her out of it, as he started to take grasp the deer's impressive antlers.

The woman leaned down to the dead animal and pulled carefully the two arrows out of its body. "I hope you don't feel guilty about eating Bambi", voice lightly strained while standing up.

"I don't feel guilty about many things," Joel mumbled darkly. He clenched his hands, thinking of the thing that had already killed him inside, over his biggest failure.

The woman looked over him, with a searching look that made him feel like she was stripping him apart. He glared grimly back. She nodded at them to follow her, and Tommy dragged the deer with them. Joel stood, not moving for a second, and then grazed his watch with his hand, before following into their newly founded group.


	3. Chapter 2

Her name was Eleanor. It hadn't occurred to him before he saw her from behind that she had anythin' but short hair, but nonetheless was her dry, brown locks cut just millimeters close to her neck and over the back of her head. Only messy locks which reached her weak jaw, separated her hair from his own – not something he was used to seeing back home. There, the girls, like Ashley, used to wave around with their long, dyed hair in all sorts of hairstyles; long ponytails, iron the hell out of it to make curls or straighten them, up and down with bobby pins and elastics that flew everywhere and never seemed to stay in the same place at once. Sadly, he also thought of how Sarah also liked to play around with her blond locks, even though they always kept it somehow short – because Joel was shit at treading everything that was smaller than a brick, with care.

He wondered about how many people were still pressed up against the mirror applying mascara to look like beautiful versions of koalas; painting their nails or lips in all sorts of colors. Because he didn't himself use it before everyone left their homes, he saw even less reason to do anything for looks now, where nothin' mattered but the state of your breathing lungs.

They had chopped of the head of the deer first, and looking at the big antlers, Joel thought back on his folks home, which were filled with artifacts, and prizes from a successful hunt – teeth, hooves, and of course, antlers. But looking at the mess, the teared muscle being ripped apart under bloody skin, Eleanor cutting big chucks of meat out of the legs, made this situation a whole lot different. His pop had hunted for the thrill of it, the art of sneaking behind an unknown creature and seeing it give under to your skill, and it all worked to give a boost of confidence. But Tommy, him and Eleanor were all raving the meat of a dead deer because of the deep hunger set in 'em all. Because they needed to. Joel too, had used the art of killing someone, taking them off guard when they thought everything was fine; but it wasn't something that boosted his self-esteem.

With both Joel's and Eleanor's backpack filled with food, wrapped in the fabric Eleanor apparently always carried around, they finally went out to get shelter from the wind. Though he somehow trusted her to lead them into her cabin, he always eyed her sharply from his place in the rearguard.

This is why he stopped in his tracks when Eleanor said "this is it," at a hill, with only the thick trees the woods had transformed into meeting, them at the bottom. Nothing else. Joel could hear the sound of a river streaming not very far away, and his brain calculated what that could mean, if they could run towards the water if Eleanor had led them into a trap, how much ammo Tommy still had left in his hunting rifle, how big a portion of the meat he had in his bag-  
But just as he was to warn Tommy, he noticed something square and tall, only slightly sticking out of the hoard of spruce trees. It was, just as Eleanor had called it, a cabin. Not very big, not very noticeable, but made of a special kind of hard wood Joel recognized from work back home. The panels ran horizontal across the walls, the roof was built of a darker sort, and did a great job in blending into the many, long branches, which hid it well.

"You ain't build this yourself, have you?" Tommy asked, eyes wide as they roamed over the thick walls. Joel didn't blame him; it was impressive for a lean woman to get two full grown men at her feet in the matter of minutes - building a working cabin in the winter, while the whole world was raging fire, would be superhuman. Joel even noticed grey stone tiles just outside the door, partly covered in soil and falling leaves.

"God, no," Eleanor replied while walking over to the door. She fumbled with her pocket in her jeans, while saying: "A friend of mine's uncle had this cabin for his hunts. He lived pretty far away from it, so he would stay here for weeks sometimes; that's why it's still in pretty good condition."

From the pocket she got a long key, and put it into a padlock Joel first now noticed. It opened with a metallic click.

"He loaned it to me," Eleanor continued. "Because when he divorced his wife he didn't have a reason to get away from her anymore; another reason why this is in good shape. I was only supposed to stay here for a couple of weeks, but then, of course." She didn't need to elaborate. So many plans had just been, dropped. Joel thought of all the books, open on pages about making your own business, which probably just still lied there in his bed, on the tables, getting more and more yellow and dusty. Useless.

"For what occasion? I don't reckon you went here to celebrate Halloween with the deers", Joel asked. He wanted to know a little more about their new ally, as Eleanor herself called it.

"Needed some space, I guess," Eleanor said shrugging, while taking of the padlock. "I didn't exactly hold a job, so I just, quit it all and took off." Small drops of rain where hitting Joel's nose, and Eleanor hurried in getting the door open; it seemed to be stuck.

"From where?" Joel asked again, watching her struggle slightly with the binding door. She looked up at him, seemed to question herself why he kept shooting further questions, but she answered regardless.

"Wisconsin."

That got Tommy to speak up again. "Didn't know we'd teamed up with a cheesehead."

The door finally opened with a hard blow from Eleanor's shoulder, and she looked over at Tommy with half a smirk, saying "Not much better than letting two cowboys into my place. You could start barbecuing my meat an' all."

"So," Tommy began again, when Eleanor had closed the door with a hard smack, sure as hell not preventing the door from jamming again. It was dark, only the light from outside streaming through the small spaces between the cabin walls.  
"Were you alone out here, all by yourself?" Tommy said, as he looked up and down the dark cabin. A table, four chairs, a little desk, which Eleanor were going over too in the moment. But Tommy's words made her jaw tighten, and she sent him a look over her shoulder.

"Why not?" Her whole manor had changed in the matter of seconds, going from easiness and normal small talk to a downright predator, staring down at Tommy with eyes as needles. Joel took a step forward.

"Easy there," he said, gesturing with his hand in front of him. "You were the one asking questions before, wasn't it?"

"Not exactly, cowboy," Eleanor threw back. She gave up on her doing and turned her upper body towards Joel. "You seemed pretty damn interested in my life just minutes ago."

"Of course I'm questioning a stranger's intention to just stroll around in a cold forest, on the step of winter, and just randomly leading us to their home," Joel shot back. He began to squeeze his eyes. "And I do find it a little strange that a woman, all alone on herself, would travel so far to something so 'in the middle of nowhere', without any TV or radio, livin' in a cabin she doesn't even own herself."

Silence. The wind were screeching, sending cold gust of wind up their pants and jackets, but no-one where moving. Only Tommy seemed distressed, Joel noted, in the corner of his eyes, seeing his brothers head switch from Joel's to Eleanor's, back and forth. He probably hadn't thought of what Joel just pointed out, and now seeing those flaws in his oh-so brilliant idea. Pft.

"Look," Eleanor said, resting her hand on the small desk, the other on her hip which stuck out to the side. She looked Joel directly in the eyes; nothin' changed there.  
"You're afraid you can't trust me. To that I can say that there's no reason to fear for your life, at least not while we're alone – can't trust those runners, you know, or whoever other crossing this part of Kansas. If I wanted to kill you, I'd done it while I had the chance – I let you go, remember? It was Tommy who even suggested this thing. Plus, you outnumber me," Eleanor finished, her eyes firm on his. Joel shifted the weigh on his feet. Tommy seemed to light up by her words.

"That still doesn't explain why you're here," Joel responded grimly. Eleanor grimaced.

"My deal is my deal. The last four months has been long, and I'm sure you have a lot of things you don't want to share to the first stranger who doesn't try to kill you; am I right?"

The brother's silence was all she needed for an answer.

"Now," she said, breaking the tension as a hammer against a brick. "Let me fucking light up the room, okay?"

She pulled out a drawer, and soon a match was lit in the darkness. The whole sequence made him think of a rusty recorder voice, which hijacked most radio channels, just weeks before. "Remember when you're lost in the darkness, look for the light." Joel's mouth turned sour just thinking about it. The Fireflies did nothing but destroy, bomb and attack as a stupid uprise against the military; but nothing of actual good. Blood were blood, chaos was chaos. And the Fireflies didn't show any understanding of that.

On the lamp hanging in the loft, Eleanor opened the glass, let the flame catch on the fuse, and rotated on the little metal handle, so the light began to fill the cabin. First now did Joel notice a door just beside him, which before was completely covered in dark shadows.

"Welcome to my crib," she commented in a small, funny tone, but it lacked humor. "Now that you can actually see it."

For the first time in hours, Joel had even ground under his shoes, and even though he could feel bits of dirt on the wooden floor, just walking on something solid made him more relaxed; especially now when they'd cleared out the air between them. He could sense it in Tommy, too; with no bitin' wind, sticks and roots and leaves all over your face, it was nice, even though the walls didn't hinder the cold. Their breaths filled the air with white clouds, faces red from the outside. It was Eleanor who was the most protected, with a thick coat, which looked like it was made of wool, and the fabric, wrapped around her face like a bandana. First now she ripped it down her face, so it instead hung around her neck, and revealed her face in the process.

It wasn't something to smooch about; not that he was in the mood to think around those lines, right now. She had a long, thin nose, and an almost flat nasal bridge. Small thin lips were white and blue from the cold, which let down to a weak jaw.

In the dim, yellow light, Tommy and he kind of just stood there, while Eleanor was fumbling with papers and tools on a desk. Shining blades caught the light and Joel's attention, and he looked over to find several skinning knifes in the drawer Eleanor just pulled out. He took a small step back. God, Tommy was right in sayin' he was jumpy.

"No, I'm not going to rip of your skin and use it as clothes, if that's what you're wondering," Eleanor mumbled without looking up from her doing.

"You sure is well supplied," he responded, voice wary.

"Not really. Dude had a couple of canned stuff, but most of it ran out in the first months since, um, I heard about what had happened. News don't travel very far when you're in a cold forest with no TV or radio, as you said yourself."

Joel finally got to see what she was working on: a plate of crackers, the hard kind, and three glasses stabled on top of each other. Joel was about to ask for a fourth glass, but then bit himself in the lip, just as he opened his mouth.

"You said you had water?" Eleanor said, looking over at Tommy at the end of the sentence. First he just looked at her, until he finally remembered what he'd said earlier.

"Oh, right," he uttered, stopping quickly in his tracks, before looking up at Joel. Joel took off the backpack, feeling so light over his back when he gave it to Tommy, who opened the zipper and searched for their pathetic water supply. Weird how quickly your body got used to something - like wearing a backpack 24/7 and never taking off your shoes, in the case of having to move quickly all the time. But then there was things which were so deeply integrated in his body, all his movements, which he could never imagine would go away; like thinking of a person who wasn't even in the room.  
But it always felt like she was, and he felt so incredibly empty without feeling her presence, like he did with his shoes and jacket off. The difference just was that allowing himself to relax didn't give him such a heavy, crushing feeling inside as he felt the absence of Sarah.

A hard clonk pushed him out of his thoughts, and he quickly looked up, unto where Eleanor had sat the small whiskey sized glasses hard on a table. He'd zoned out again. His jaw pushed out, so his upper lip got caught in the under, while Tommy was pouring down the last water drops, dividing it fairly equal into each cup. Joel looked down at the triangle of glass, water reflecting in the moving light. It looked like something Sarah could have stabled together, when Tommy sometimes would come home after work with him. Tommy and he would get a drink after a long day, and Sarah would get apple juice, pretending to drink the same golden whiskey as them.

The memory made him want to smash the glasses, to push it all away, far, far away. But instead, Joel looked down at the clean, untouched glass of his watch, his own reflection caught in it, over the ticking arms. His beard had grown ridiculously bigger, covering his whole jaw with rough, black hairs, much longer than how he used to trim it. He looked like a wild-man. Then, he stopped himself; he probably was, by now.

"Joel?" Tommy called, his voice controlled by a sense of cautiousness. Joel picked up on it, and sent a strict look over at his brother, who snapped his jaw shut when their eyes met. Tommy wasn't supposed to look out for him, wasn't supposed to acknowledge anything. He was the oldest goddammit, and he didn't need his seven year younger baby brother being soft with him. Joel put out a chair, one out of four, the two already occupied by Tommy and Eleanor. He took his glass, looked down at the transparent water. He downed it in one mouthful, and though his heavy feeling inside, he enjoyed the refreshing feeling of the water down his dry throat.

"Well," Eleanor said, looking down at his now empty glass. "It's not alcohol, but it'll do."

Tommy agreed verbally, Joel silently.

Eleanor first popped her lips together, before asking: "What's the latest numbers? It's been days since I last got an update on things."

That question called for a grim answer, Joel knew. And she knew too. Her look was serious as he waited for them to answer, holding her glass in her hands.

"Last time I heard, death toll was up to three million estimated deaths," Joel said, voice flat, trying to suppress any emotion lying in those words, but he failed.

"Jesus Christ," Eleanor whispered. She stared into the air. "But those are only from the infection, right?"

Knowing what she meant, Tommy and he nodded slowly.

"Meaning there's at least hundreds of bodies, who didn't die of a bite, but which they don't count for," she said.

"Of course not," Tommy commented, voice silent. "They don't want to put up their own murder rate for all to hear."

They all stayed silent after that. Joel tried so hard not to keep his own mind from summing with thought, pictures of blood, his own hands pressing hard on her stomach, but also remembering the blood that kept seeking through his fingers…

"God, I need a drink," Eleanor said. "A big, fat bottle of vodka, imported from fucking Russia."

She pushed air through her nose, a small smile creeping in the corner of her mouth, but her voice was flat when she started talking.

That's what it sounds like when you force humor into a bad situation, Joel thought.

"I once had a bet with this friend I had," she started, rolling the glass on the table, back and forth. She opened her long legs as she leaned back in the hard wooden chair. "I was around seventeen. The bet was that if I could go through a whole weekend with the only liquid allowed to drink, being alcohol, I would get to kick my friend in the nuts as hard as I could."

"My head hurts just thinking about that," Tommy said, a little laugh lingering over his voice, and leaned back in his chair as Eleanor. He slid his hair back, the grease almost letting it stay in place as he let go of it. "That counts for both. I don't know what's worst – the hangover or sore balls."

"Yeah, both of us regretted that," she laughed, half humoristic, half hollow. "It's only a couple of years ago, but last time I saw him, he still commented about crushing his testicles."

Tommy frowned, but a smile on his lips. "Woman, how hard did you go on that poor fella?"

"Dude, I almost castrated the guy. Tom, was his name. But he isn't the most sharpest of the knifes, so if natural selection hasn't already done it's work, I think I did the gene pool a favor."

Joel, having just listened for now, lingered on something Eleanor had just said before, and looked up from his empty glass to Tommy and her laughing at each other. "Wait, you said it's only a couple of years ago you were seventeen?"

"I believe you still have great ears, Joel," Eleanor replied snidely.

Joel just stared at her, and ignored the comment. "That means you're in your early twenties, twenty-two at most." Eleanor just stared right back. Joel wondered for how long the battle between wolves would go on in death glares. Maybe it wasn't so surprising that she was way younger than he thought.

"But," Tommy said, looking baffled, and turned around to look at Eleanor intensely, as if her skin had turned green. "You look at least like 30!" Silence for a second. "No offence," he quickly replied, and looked down at his empty glass as if the already drunken water drops were really interesting, and could hide his growing head nose. Tommy was always the one to blush, and being only three years out of his teenage years, he was far away from letting "the fungus of red death" go, as Tommy had nicknamed it himself when it made all the girls giggled at 'im back in middle school.

"None taken," Eleanor said calmly, and took a deep breath, more of a sign of exhaustion than being tired of the subject. "Most people think that. They don't usually say it like that, but," she smiled smugly, and Tommy's redness spread to his cheeks.

"My mind aged faster than my body, if you can say that without sounding to corny. 'Been through a lot of stuff, and, people just mistake me for being an adult. More than 21, at least," she added, and pushed her glass away. "Once a cop thought I was at least twenty-five until he looked at my profile, when I was in fact eighteen." Tommy just kept looking confused.

"We're not much older than you are, then," Joel said. Eleanor looked up. "I'm twenty-seven, Tommy's twenty-two."

"Oh, so I'm not the only youngling?" Eleanor asked, smirking.

"Well, we both have, well, had, full time jobs, miss unemployed," Tommy intertwined, his eyes glimting with humor and the flame from the lamp. As much shit and silence there was between them, a part inside of Joel was happy to see his baby brother look like that again. For a moment everything seemed normal; fun talk over a drink between friends after work, jokes thrown around without hurtin' anybody. Joel couldn't decide if the feeling inside him looking at the whole scene brought content or dread with it.

"Don't get too smart-ass, you," Eleanor said, pointing a finger at Tommy. "I just said I had a profile in the police reports. I did have a job, just not an entirely legal one."

Tommy seemed a little put back by that for a second, but as Joel thought, he probably guessed it didn't matter anymore. It didn't, to be honest. Joel thought of how normal, an average Texan Joe, he used to be. Though a single dad from an early age, he was the usual carpenter living in Austin, trying to pay off the bills and working with the mortgage. And then he thought about how quickly sides of him had showed up, sides he hadn't seen before Sarah, after the outbreak. He'd been an angry child, punching and throwing fists at things he thought was bullshit, an image directly copied of their dad, who didn't try to hide his angry fits through their whole childhood. Sometimes Joel would walk past a new hole in the wall in the early morning, and he'd remember the bang he'd heard from the night before, which'd ended their parent's argument in a second. The hole would get fixed up quickly, making space for new ones to come, and there always would. Joel seemed to have inherited that gene. He'd managed to suppress it, as soon as he held his own child in his arms, but now that child was gone, his world was gone, his life was gone – all that anger and selfishness flared up again like a flame who before was denied oxygen, but now finally could take a breath of fresh air.

"Pusher?" Tommy asked. Eleanor raised an eyebrow and shook her head, looked down at the hard wooden table. "Only a customer for a period, long time ago. No, I acquired things for people, and favors. A go-to-man I think you can call it, for all the things you can't find on greglist."

"All the things?" Tommy asked silently, with a smug voice. Both Joel and Eleanor groaned.

"Fuck no," Eleanor said. "I steal stuff, smuggle stuff, get people to do stuff for other people's stuff, all on the other side of the law. And no, that doesn't include one dollar handjobs at the side of the road, for God's sake," Eleanor said firmly, but her last words were breathy, and she smiled as she stood up from her chair. "I guess I'm back in work though, when supplies run out, and I need to move into the city's," she added.

"But what do you do? Full time-job-adults?" She raised her voice a little as she turned around to take the plate of crackers. Joel thought of the meat, still in both his and Eleanor's backpacks. It was getting late, the light outside getting darker and darker. He guessed the hard crackers was for tonight, and the meat would wait for tomorrow, being held cold by just being in the room. At least they didn't need a fridge.

"Carpenters," Tommy said. Eleanor nodded approvingly, before turning around and say "I gotta piss; be right back. Try not to steal my stuff," was her last comment before yanking the door open, the wind knocking it right back in place as soon as she let go. Where was a little silcence before Joel said:

"Bet there's work for us in the zones, under all that bombing the Fireflies are up too." Tommy frowned at that.

"They're just trying to make a stand to their no-tolerance policy," he said. Joel looked up at him with a passive glare. He shook his head, and ate a bite of a dry cracker. Tommy squinted his eyes at that.

"No-one else's got the balls to do it," he continued. "They just let the soldiers push them around like idiots. They're trying to help getting rid of the infection."

"Sabotaging what's trying to be done to keep the infection down isn't helping, it's a stupid way to make a stand at something we can't control," Joel growled.

Tommy opened his mouth in a short chuckle full of disbelieve. "I can't believe what I'm hearing of you! I thought you, of all people, would despise the way they keep the infection out, the way they're keeping us out." Tommy's voice was strained, and he almost leaned over the table to get Joel's eyes up. But he'd already gotten his attention all right. Joel's gaze snapped up at him, with the coldest glare he could utter, directly coming from the aching emptiness inside, always freezing. Tommy knew that.

"Don't you dare," Joel said. His voice was low, but growled in a strong intensity no living thing in the cabin missed. "Don't you dare say, I don't hate the way they run things. But I know where I stand, little brother. I'm right here, in this cabin, stuck with you on my arm, trying to keep us running, so it doesn't. Happen. Again."  
Joel held a quick break in his words, realizing it was one of the first times Joel acknowledged that Sarah's death even happened, other than shutting Tommy's mouth every time he was gonna say something about it. Joel breathed through his nose, hard and long.  
"Shooting the people in charge, to make a statement, just as the chaos is running all over the world, is not the right time to play terrorist. It's not a game, it's not a little play between power and rights. You want to live? You follow me, and you stay the hell away from the military. You got that?"

Tommy's face was hard, chin up, eyes staring Joel down. Joel didn't care.

And just that, they heard Eleanor rumble with the door outside, seconds later banging it open. She pulled her scarf down from her face, cheeks red from the cold. Her close was dripping from the rain Joel hadn't even noticed had taken such a toll outside. Tommy still stared directly at him, though Joel had broken the connection by looking over at Eleanor. Her face was first as open and relaxed, ready to bring up the conversation from before, but it quickly fell as she sensed the air. Her eyes switched between them, and by just those two short looks, it made Joel feel uneasy. It was like she could read the words uttered in between them; and he didn't like it.

There wasn't much talk after that. Joel took the meat out from their backpacks and laid the packs at the desk, after Eleanor's words about keeping them fresh until morning. Joel wasn't sure of leaving all their proteins just in front of the door, as they were sleeping in another room, but Eleanor just shrugged, and reassured him that there wasn't any danger; four months had passed, and she was still alive. Joel still thought it was fishy, that she could have done that all by herself. He guessed some people were just hardcore.

When they'd pack away their stuff, ready to get some sleep in something that wasn't a flat joga matress could just have in his backpack, Eleanor opened the only other door in the cabin. The room on the other side was too, dark as night, but Eleanor had lit a candle from the other drawer on the desk, so she lit them a path to a double bed. A duvet covered the old, simple bed, and before either Tommy or Joel would suggest themselves as sleeping on the floor, Eleanor simply said "make yourself comfortable." Tommy and he stared at her. Was she seriously giving up her bed for them? Apparently, no. Because as they looked at her, she answered: "body heat. If's fucking cold outside," and they realized what she'd meant.

Not an hour later, they all three lay on the creaking mattresses, blankets and duvet covering all full grown adults as much as possible. Joel lied in the middle, taking the bad place between the two mattresses, with Eleanor on his right, Tommy on his left. There, in the darkness, moonlight streaming silently through the cracks in the walls, he listened to his brother breathing heavily. He'd already fallen asleep, as he always did when they shared a bedroom together as kids, and it occurred Joel that it been that long ago he'd slept so close to his baby brother. He'd be damned for the argument today, he still loved Tommy as the brothers they were, six years younger than himself. He just hoped Tommy would listen to him, so he could keep hit at arm's length, without him running away, wanting to bomb any buildings in his riot blood.

Joel sighed. Beside him, Eleanor was still awake. The moonlight contoured her open eyes, short, straight eyelashes still waving up and down as she blinked.

"It's funny, isn't it," Eleanor said, in a silent voice, breaking the empty air. Joel moved his head towards her. "How many things just don't matter. You think you live a poor man's life, and then you still have things to leave behind."

Joel was taken aback by her sudden words, seeming random in the middle of the night, but he somewhat understood. He thought of his childhood, before. He thought of Sarah, and how he'd tuck her in, sometimes read stories or sing a little lullaby if she demanded it of him, the time way past her bedtime. He touched his watch with his thumb at the thought – the little motion didn't do anything, but he felt like he was closer to her in that way. Her last gift to him. And he used it to remember her. Joel felt like it was the best thing he could ever do as a person now. As a dad. So many things at home, he'd treasured: his guitar, his computer, books and plans messily everywhere over the house, his music collection in complete order after how much he listened to them. But all in all, all that mattered was his role as a dad; a title he didn't have anymore.

Joel reckoned Eleanor had thoughts of the same caliber.

"That ain't the hard part," Joel said.

Silence stretched between them for seconds, and Joel didn't think she would answer, before he heard her very, very silent voice, almost like a whisper:

"I lost my whole family. The outbreak, they were one of the first to get smitten. Maybe some got away, but… as I lay here, I'm the last one left." Her voice was raspy at the end.

Joel figured that she'd lied about how she got here; apparently she was home in Wisconsin when the infection broke out. He thought of the night it all happened, a sharp tug of pain digging into his chest. It hadn't been better for her, either.

He didn't say sorry. He didn't say anything at all. Eleanor was quite for the rest of the night, too, and soon he felt the warmth of their three body's, the soft fabric of the duvet over him and pillow supporting his neck for the first time in days, and he slowly dug into rest, the memory of Sarah making him smile a little, as he thought of when she was four, and they would fall asleep together in his bed. Now, it felt like she still was, just for a second.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like, please Kudos/comment/follow/all, so I know that you did. :) I'm open to critique!


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